I give Georgia a look. “You checked to see when I was free, didn’t you?”
She blushes prettily. “I might have.” Laughs. “I’m sorry, but I’m so excited. I couldn’t help myself!”
“It’s fine.” Pause. “So, when can I go?”
She clears her throat. “Well, it just so happens you’re also free in two weeks—but if that’s too soon, I get it. I mean who just goes on a trip in two weeks without any notice?”
Plenty of people, I want to point out, at the risk of sounding like a pompous windbag.
“I can seriously go in two weeks?” Shite, that does feel soon.
But if we wait any longer, there’s a chance I’ll change my mind, get lazy, and want to stay back, forcing her to scramble and find someone else to tag along on this free ride.
“Yup.” Her head dips in a nod. “You’re free in two weeks. Unless there’s something you forgot to put on your calendar?”
I don’t forget anything, and there’s hardly anything else to put there.
Rugby.
Class.
Those are the two things I do, rarely deviating.
Parties don’t count; those are last minute. I don’t have parents who pop in to school to visit, no holidays to go home for.
It’s too much work.
Too far.
Too expensive, not that cost has ever been a factor.
Lucky me, born with a silver spoon in my gap-toothed mouth.
That sobers me up.
“And we’re sharing a room?”
“Yes, but…I think I read that the room has a sleeper sofa?”
“Um. What’s that?”
She cocks her head. “A sleeper sofa? It’s a couch that converts into a bed. Haven’t you seen one?”
Um, no. We never had those at the two-hundred-year-old estate where I grew up—wouldn’t have gone with the gilded décor.
“No.”
“Oh. Well, the room has one and we can toss a coin to see who has to sleep on it.” She gives me a megawatt smile. “I can’t afford to put you in your own room.”
Pretty.
So goddamn pretty and happy.
“It’s fine—I’ll suffer through it.”
I bury my head again, wanting to avoid her huge blue eyes and the freckles on her nose and her pink lips.
How the fuck am I supposed to spend a weekend with her in Sin City and not think sinful things about her?
You’ll survive; it’s only a few nights. “How long will we be there?”
“How about two nights? We can’t really miss any classes, and we definitely cannot miss practice.”
Nope, we can’t.
Plus, Vegas is fine in small doses.
Two nights will be plenty before it becomes too much.
“Sounds good to me. Can you text me the dates so I won’t forget?”
She picks up her mobile, head tilted down. “There. Sent.”
More smiles. More giggles.
She’s so utterly cheerful it’s practically oozing out of her pores. “Should we watch a movie tonight, or…” Her eyes travel my face. “Oh gosh, your lip!”
Reaching forward, her fingers go to the corner of my mouth—to the gash there. It’s already been cleaned and dressed, but I imagine it looks terrible.
The new cuts always do the first few hours, blood-stained skin and all that.
I jerk my head away from her prying fingers, knowing if she touches me, it’ll sting my skin worse than any cleat could.
“It’s good—I’m fine.”
“Are you sure? It looks terrible. I could…”
“No, I’m good. It’s good.”
Everything hurts, but I’m fine.
She pulls her hand back, withdrawing to the stool. “If you’re sure.”
I nod. “I’m tired. I think I’m just going to head to bed after we’re done cleaning the kitchen.”
Georgia nods slowly. “You’re so right—it’s been an eventful day.”
“Hey.” I stop. “How did your meet go today?”
I feel like a dick for not asking about her events—I forgot she had a track meet.
She seems pleased I remembered. “Good. I killed it.”
“Didn’t doubt it.”
We move about the kitchen after we’re both finished eating, loading dishes in the dishwasher, wiping down the counter, putting the cartons in the fridge.
I refill both our water glasses before flipping the kitchen lights off as we head for the stairs.
At the top, Georgia pauses.
Nibbles at her bottom lip. “Thank you. I’m…”
She hesitates, blushing again, pausing bashfully.
“You’re…?” My hand goes to the banister, hand holding it whilst I wait.
“I shouldn’t have rushed the field today—I’m sure I looked like a lunatic, but I got the text while I was sitting there and I just could not help myself.”
She did indeed look like a lunatic but, “A happy lunatic.”
Her grin right now is worth the trouble she caused me today—I fail to mention how I got my arse chewed out by the coaching staff. The referee called a foul on our team, unsportsmanlike conduct, penalizing me for running with her around the field.
Like any of it fucking matters.
Not right now—not with that look on her face.
The way she’s looking at me now, all starry-eyed and…
And…
I shake my head.
Nah.
It’s just a look; no reading into it as anything else. Georgia Parker is not into me. Isn’t attracted to me. We established that on day one.